A Row of Trees
A row of trees. A grove of light and shadow.
The steady repetition planned to draw the eye.
Artistic in its planting.
Perhaps there is something wrong with you.
Your eye falls to the end. The empty space,
where life ends, and where possibility begins.
About this poem.
My mom used to tell me that I missed a lot of life because I was always looking toward what was next, and missing the now. There was something to what she said.
The picture was taken at the Southern Vermont Arts Center in Manchester, Vermont.